


Cold Blooded

by Gypsymoon77



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley likes cuddles, Fluffy, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4133832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsymoon77/pseuds/Gypsymoon77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Crowley and Aziraphale have a bit of a misunderstanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Blooded

The bell over the door to Aziraphale's shop rang merrily. Two thoughts crossed the angel's mind. First, that a bell over the shop door was a bit archaic, and that perhaps he should modernize and get rid of it. Second, the bell had no right to be merry about a potential customer. Potential customers were bad. Stupid tourists wanting to “just browse” and touch all of his precious books. Even worse were actual collectors. Not many folk could claim that their personal collection was a gift (in a way) from the anti-Christ himself, so of course he wasn't actually going to sell any of them, and really, these people had no right to come into his shop in the first place.

 

These slightly less-than-charitable, not-quite-angelic thoughts flitted through his head as he gave his cocoa one last stir and turned to call out that he would be there in a moment. He was interrupted by a familiar voice.

 

“It's me!” called Crowley, sounding more grumpy than usual. The demon appeared in the doorway of the kitchenette looking rather miserable and damp. With a careless flick of his wrist, Crowley banished the melting snow from his shoulders, returning his wool overcoat to it's dry and snug state. However, the demon retained his glum look.

 

“Ah, it's begun snowing again,” responded Aziraphale amiably, his bad mood quickly evaporating with the relief that there were no actual customers to drive off of the premises. He serenely imagined the quiet afternoon he would spend curled up with his latest literary acquisition and listening to the soft hush of falling snow. At least as well as it could be heard over the bustle outside his Soho shop. Aziraphale turned away from his counterpart and busied himself with a second cup.

 

“Would you like a mug of cocoa?” he offered, already preparing the beverage without waiting for confirmation. “What brings you over? Please tell me you haven't gotten us into some sort of trouble again?” he said, not bothering to turn around.

 

So he was rather surprised when Crowley's arms snaked around his waist and the demon pressed himself up against his back. Aziraphale's body went rigid.

 

“My dear?!” he squeaked, his voice tremulous and his exclamation half-statement, half-question.

 

“I'm cold,” answered Crowley, his voice deep and sulky. And then to prove his point, he buried his chilled face in the nape of the angel's neck.

 

Aziraphale yelped and tried to pull away, but Crowley squeezed tighter, much like a boa constrictor. He made a little whining noise of protest as he nuzzled at Aziraphale's curls. “Don't fight, 'Zira,” he slurred, already feeling drowsy as his body absorbed Aziraphale's warmth. His fingers danced along the hem of the angel's sweater vest, trying to pull it up and expose Aziraphale's soft, warm belly to his frigid fingers.

 

“Really, I insist you stop!” retorted Aziraphale primly, batting away the demon's searching fingers.

 

“Have pity on me. I'm cold blooded.” Crowley's voice was the perfect blend of plaintive and melancholy.

 

The angel huffed indignantly and went still. He could feel Crowley's lips against his neck as they curled into a mischievous smile. With a quick, darting motion, he snaked his hands up underneath Aziraphale's shirt and vest and pressed his icy fingers against the angel's round stomach. Aziraphale yelped and bit his lip, trying to fight off the chill. Crowley groaned sinfully.

 

“You're ssssoooo warm,” he purred against Aziraphale's neck. He was practically kneading the angel's stomach with his long fingers and was making funny little happy noises.

 

Aziraphale was on the verge of making his own little happy noises back, when the weight of reality came crashing down on him. Outrage flooded though his veins, cooling the rather pleasurable feeling that had begun building up. So, after all these years, this was his game? To finally Tempt him? Aziraphale jerked free from Crowley. Mustering his dignity, he smoothed down his sweater vest and snatched up the mug in front of him, sloshing it's contents.

 

“My cocoa is getting cold,” he said with a sniff.

 

“What about mine?” whined Crowley, picking up the empty mug and making the most pitiful face that he could make considering he had snake-slitted yellow eyes.

 

“Make it yourself,” snapped Aziraphale harshly, marching out into this shop. He ignored the “'Zira!” Crowley called after him. Haughtily, he snatched up the book he had just purchased and then stormed over to the door, flipping the “Sorry! We're Closed” sign. Crowley was now standing in the doorway, looking forlorn and still holding his empty cocoa mug. Aziraphale shot him a disgusted look as he marched past and then into one of the backrooms. Slinging himself down onto an unused sofa, he miracled away the dust cloud that rose up around him and then set his mug down onto the equally dusty side table. He flipped the book open to a random spot and pretended to become absorbed in his reading. He could feel Crowley hovering near the door.

 

“I've made you mad?”

 

It was the absolute confusion in the demon's voice that made Aziraphale look up. Crowley was normally so suave and self-confident. And now he stood across the room from Aziraphale looking rather baffled and lost. The angel looked back down at his book, not quite ready to give up his self-righteous anger.

 

“It was completely rude, doing that, you know? Total violation of the Arrangement,” he muttered, flipping a page and then staring blankly at the words in front of him.

 

“Wha-? Really, Aziraphale...”

 

“You tried to Tempt me!” shouted the angel, his voice going shrill with the accusation. He turned round, hurt eyes up to the demon and let the betrayal show on his face. He bit his lip rather sharply. He would not cry....

 

Crowley stared at him for a moment, and then threw his head back and laughed. “Is that what you thought that was?” His eyes danced in amusement, which had a rather disturbing effect. Slitted eyes weren't meant to look merry.

 

Aziraphale huffed, feeling suddenly very embarrassed and very sure that he had over-reacted. “Well, then, what was that then?” he asked, his mouth pinched downward in a frown.

 

“I'm cold!” reiterated Crowley. He flicked a forked-tongue at the angel to remind him of his serpentine nature. “I was trying to warm up.”

 

Aziraphale's cheeks went pink. “Ah....yes....of course....” he muttered.

 

“Besides, angel, if I were trying to Tempt you, you wouldn't be sitting all the way over there,” purred Crowley, the expression in his gold eyes shifting to a look that had successfully seduced shepherds and shepherdesses alike for centuries.

 

Aziraphale pointedly looked away. He took a sip of his cocoa -tepid – and once again tried become interested in his book.

 

“Angel?”

 

Aziraphale sighed and looked up. Crowley was standing over him, a funny half-smile on his lips.

 

“What?” Aziraphale asked waspishly. He knew it was petty to be angry just because he was embarrassed.

 

Crowley reached down and gently removed the book from Aziraphale's hands. He carefully placed it on the side table next to the cocoa mug and then sat down next to the angel. A hand reached out and traced the hem of Aziraphale's sweater once more.

 

“I'm still cold,” Crowley whispered quietly with a sly smile.

 


End file.
